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Fall is a contradictory time for me. As a kid, I loved the colors of crisp leaves and pumpkin patches. Now, as an adult, I have a different love of fall.

The brown, sleek sogginess of a Southeast fall relieves some the pressure for perfection I sometimes feel in the summer, when the long days can feel like a marching order to achieve. In peak summer, my garden is so vibrant I feel obligated to wrangle the insurgent chickweed. Now, while my garden turns soupy, I figure I ought to ignore anything that can grow and let it live in peace.

Soon snow will cover up all my lawn's imperfections like rampant moss, lichen growing on my fence, and low spots that fill with water and harbor unknown slime. They will stay buried until spring, when strange forms will melt from my yard, revealing all I choose not to deal with right now.

Fall, when I most want to look inward, is also a time I am forced most to look outward. School starts again, my daughter signs up for every lesson under the sun, and political season comes into full bloom. All of these draw me away from my otherwise bear-like tendencies to stick close to home right now, clearing away the brush between my family and the great unknown of winter.

So what to do to rectify the contradictions? When I was at my yoga class today, my teacher had us practice balancing exercises. While trying to grab one foot behind my back, and lift the opposite arm over my head, I was reminded of something key.

To balance, to stay perched on one foot, I had to do two things. First, I had to try, not just flopping-around-on-the-mat kind of try, but really, purposefully engage my body and brain into the effort. Secondly, I had to ignore the people around me. I had to assume no one behind me was getting a good laugh at my wobbly pose and trembling legs. In short, I had to assume good will of them and of myself.

It seems simple to assume good will, to assume no one is out to get you. To assume people are basically good, even if flawed. But simple is not the same as easy, as the greater world can attest. Every day we are confronted with ways people, including me, forget this notion. However, I guarantee I could hold my yoga pose longer and stronger when I assumed good will of the rest of the class. I simply did not have to be afraid of imaginary demons in the room. Because I assumed the best of them, I could take that time and effort to hold on to my foot, to balance a little longer, to remain awkward and unsure, even a little vulnerable, and yet emerge ultimately successful.

In the last year, I experienced the deaths of two people who were, in different ways, close to me. Both were very influential to the many people around them. Both left behind young families far too soon. But when I think back on the two, one striking difference comes to mind. One felt strongest when mistrusting others, pitting the outsiders against the insiders, engendering fear as a defense; the other erred on the side of trusting in the good in others, despite understanding the imperfections of herself and others. She assumed good will. And because of that, her good will lives on and multiplies. Given a choice, I'd rather live like that.

Here, a wet fall feels like an opportunity to do the same thing; be reminded to seek a little balance, feel a little stronger. Assume the neighbors really are not talking about your slug-infested lawn. And remember that whatever junk I leave in my yard now will reappear in a few months when the days get longer again.

• Marie Ryan McMillan is a teacher and parent in Juneau.